#This is TTTE

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 6 - "The Comedy"

Hey it's Traintober! I have a couple of things written for this - more will be revealed if/when circumstances allow.

This one is just written for me: "What if I re-wrote arguably one of the worst Chris Awdry stories but also made it extremely topical? What's that? It's basically a shitpost?"

Yah anyways this is Drip Tank but it's also not.

Dripping

The Present Day - 2024

“Chaps,” Thomas said one evening as he arrived back at the sheds. “What is ‘the drip,’ and how can someone have it?”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “We’re not doing this again. It was stupid last time and I won’t be made the fool a second time.”

“This week.” Toby murmured under his breath. 

“What was that?” Percy glared. “Was that a constructive comment telling Thomas that we’re not playing dictionary games in public ever again?”

“Thomas, in what context did you hear that?” Toby ignored Percy. 

“I don’t know,” Thomas explained. “It was a group of children standing on the platform.” 

“Oh, so it is like last time!” Percy was irate. “We. Are. Not. Doing. This. Again!”

Thomas ignored him too. “They were talking about someone getting a new jacket, but it didn’t seem to be a bad thing. I think it was a compliment.”

“So it’s a compliment now?” Toby was curious. 

“Maybe.” Thomas looked pensive. “They could have been trying to be mean, but I didn’t get that sense. The boy they were talking about wasn’t even there.”

Percy wondered why he continued to like them all as much as he did. “Just, just, stop, you two. This is idiotic. Just ask the kids in the morning when you take them to school. Then we’ll know.” 

He paused. “Wait. Have Henrietta ask them when you take them to school, Toby. Then we’ll get the actual reason.” 

“I’m taking them in the morning, thanks very much.” Thomas said cheekily. “So I’ll ask.”

“You?! Since when do you take the kids? Since when does he let you?” 

“Since they’re resurfacing the main road tomorrow.” Toby said. “All the children are going by train because the buses are too big for the detour. “Unless you would like to take Henrietta, Victoria, Annie, Clarabel, and one of the big main line through coaches on the first down train tomorrow?” 

Percy quickly backpedaled, much to everyone else’s amusement!

-

The next morning, Thomas scanned the platform for someone he knew. He didn’t have Toby’s encyclopedic knowledge of the line’s children, so he had to wait for someone… there! “Rachel! Rachel Kyndley!”

Rachel Kyndley was definitely too old to count as “children” - she was commuting to the University in Suddery, for goodness’ sake - but Thomas definitely didn’t recognize anybody else.

“What’s up, Tommy?” She said, blissfully unaware of the question she was about to be posed with. 

“Do you know what “drip” is?” Thomas asked innocently. “I’ve been hearing children talk about it, and I don’t know what it means.”

Rachel made a series of facial expressions, before burying her head in her hands. “Who said this to you and why?”

Thomas explained what he’d heard, and Rachel took a long blink. “I’ll be back in one second.” She walked away, towards the carriages. 

A minute later, she came back with a younger boy in a blue satin jacket with “MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS” written across the front. “Is this who they were talking about?”

“I believe so,” Thomas said after a moment of thought. “They said his jacket “had the drip,” but I don’t know what that means.”

The younger boy made an indescribable facial expression. “Rachel, I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are, Roy McColl.”

“No!”

“This is your fault!”

“Mine?!”

“If you don’t help I’ll tell your sister!”

“And I’ll tell yours!”

The two stared at each other. “Fine!” “Fine!”

The young boy started first. “So, what d’you wanna know, Thomas?”

“What is drip, and how do you have it?” It really was not a difficult question, and if they took much longer they’d be late setting off.

The boy - Roy - took in a deep breath. “It’s my jacket, see? It’s got drip, which means that it looks real fly. I got that rizz right now.”

Rachel looked defeated. “Roy. Think about what you just said.”

“What? It’s the truth, innit?”

“You explained a word that he doesn’t know with two other words that he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know what rizz is?”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Uhghh, fine.” He thought hard for a second. “Drip is… like when you look real good, innit? Like you’ve got some clothes that look real nice, gives you a bit of a swagger. Fly is sorta the same thing but it’s like what old people say - maybe more good looking and not a swagger thing, understand?”

“If you think that old people say “fly,” you’re going to have a rude awakening in about five years.”

“I thought that only helicopters and airplanes could fly,” Thomas chipped in unhelpfully. “I guess I’ve learned something.”

“Roy…” Rachel glared. 

“Alrigh’ fine!” He recoiled. “So fly and drip mean that you look real nice and fresh. Like, you look good and all that.” He explained again. “You got me?”

“Okay…” Thomas said carefully. “What was that other thing?”

“Am I really gonna tell Thomas the Tank Engine what rizz is?” The boy said quietly. 

“You brought this on yourself…” Rachel said darkly. 

Thomas looked on expectantly. Seeing young people get so flustered about this sort of thing was one of the few perks of getting old. 

“So, rizz is when you got that charisma, that charm, that style. You know, if you ever wanna get with someone, you might wanna rizz them up, be a real gentleman about it.” Roy said it with an ever-increasing look of dread, as though he had never heard the words spoken aloud until they were out of his mouth and unable to be retracted. Rachel Kyndley looked like she wanted to die on the spot. Inside his cab, Thomas’ crew were in hysterics. 

Thomas wasn’t sure if he should be worried or impressed that this explanation made sense. “So, drip and fly are similar in that they mean you look good, and rizz is when you’re particularly charming?” 

A strangled noise from the platform said volumes, and his crew were now bent over in laughter.

“That’s almost -” Whatever Roy was about to say was cut off by the guard’s whistle. “Oh, well looks like I’ve gotta go-” 

“Nope!” Thomas’ driver gasped out between chuckles. “If you don’t get this right now, we’ll never know for certain. Get in here!”

“I don’t think that’s strictly necessary-” Rachel started. 

“You too lassie!” the fireman chortled. “This is the funniest thing I’ve heard all year!”

“I-uh, well-” Rachel hemmed and hawed, wondering if she could do a runner and then call in sick.

“Oh, come on dearie!” Said Clarabel, who had been watching the proceedings with amusement. “We’ve all been so curious!” 

“Oh my god.” she whispered, and followed Roy into the cab with a sense of impending doom.

-------------------------

Later

A few days later, Thomas headed off to the works for his annual inspection.

“Nothing’s too wrong,” The manager of the steam shop said as he went over the list. “We do want to get you in for a new coat o’ paint, though. Starting to look a little tatty ‘round the corners.”

Thomas was not one to turn down a new coat of paint, and so a few hours later he was being sanded and stripped of his old paint, ready for the new coat. In the corner of the paint shop, a few of the workers were hunched over an old Ford Anglia, polishing it to a strangely-sparkling finish. 

“Allrighty,” the paint shop foreman said, entering the room with a few swatches of paint. “We’ve got some new variations on the old blue and red. See, this one is going to show up much better in bright sunlight, while this one is - well, we’ve managed to get a hold of the retro-reflective stuff that they put on road signs; might make you a touch easier to see in the dark, if we do the red lining with it.”

Thomas looked at the samples, before turning his attention to the car in the corner. “What are they doing with that?” he asked. “It’s so… sparkly.”

“Oh that?” The foreman said. “It’s someone’s project. I think they’re mixing in pearl with some metallic blue. Really makes it shine, doesn’t it?”

It was shiny even from across the room, and Thomas felt an instant, impulsive attraction to it. “Can you do that to me?”

The man was taken slightly aback, but nodded. “Sure we can, but, are you sure? It’s not exactly something that you can take off once the novelty wears off.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” 

---------

Later still

A day later, they rolled Thomas out of the paint shop to a flurry of camera shutter noises. The paint shop crew had jumped at the chance to “tweak” Thomas’ paint, and he sparkled in the sun like a pearlescent gemstone. 

The younger members of staff were especially pleased. Most of the time they had to work within the constraints of “history,” and “tradition,” and “but I’ve always been this colour,” so seeing their creativity on full display was very rewarding. 

“Wow,” Thomas said as he inspected a picture of himself. “I look great!”

“You really do, mate.” One of the painters said as he took a selfie. “We gotta see if we can get Gordon or someone to do this.”

“Oh, he’ll never go for it,” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he could handle this level of drip.”

Dead silence followed this. 

“What?” Thomas looked around. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No, and that’s the scary thing.”

--------

Later still

Thomas’ new paint was the talk of the Island for several days. Most of the opinions were positive, however some engines had a less-than-complementary view on the situation…

“Who does he think he is?” James grumbled to nobody in particular at the big station. “Gallivanting around in this shiny paint like that, it’s likely to cause an accident!” 

Gordon, at the next platform, raised an eyebrow that said volumes, but otherwise stilled his tongue. 

“Oh please!” Tornado said from the platform on the other side of James. “He looks so good in that paint. I’d say that you’re just jealous.” 

“Jealous? Me?” James retorted at a suspiciously high pitch. “I’m just pointing out the obvious here! If everybody keeps looking at him they’re bound to run into something sooner or later!”

“And it’ll be worth it…” Tornado whispered in a sing-song voice, leading her crew to roll their eyes in unison. 

“Don’t mind her,” Said the driver, who Gordon idly noted was one of the youngest girls he’d ever seen on the footplate. “She’s just blinded by Thomas’ incredible drip.”

“Completely rizzed up.” agreed the fireman, who looked like a child. “Totes delulu.”

“Mood.”

Any further conversation was cut off as the signal dropped, and Tornado steamed away, lost in her own imagination. 

James continued on indignantly. “And that’s another thing! People just keep saying things about him like they’re supposed to make sense!”

Gordon looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Nobody will tell you what any of it means, will they?”

“No!” James wailed. “And I have no idea why!” 

“One wonders…” Gordon said snidely. 

“Oh, as if you know what an “on point drip” is!” 

“I have better things to worry about than the idle slang of children.”

“Oh, so they won’t tell you either!”

“I never said that!”

“Oh really? Then please, professor, educate me on what drip could mean in relation to Thomas! Has he sprung a leak?!”

Just then, Edward emerged from under the station canopy, and drew up to the signals. “What, Thomas?” He said conversationally. “Personally, I think he looks fly as hell, but then again I’m a boomer, so I could be tripping.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but the signal dropped. “Ah well, gotta bounce, TTYL!”

And he puffed away, grinning widely. 

Gordon and James took about three seconds to process that. 

“Edward, who taught you those words?”

“Edward! Get back here and tell me what that means! EDWARD!”

[shinygoku]

Bertie the Bus backed into his berth, while the passengers he had been carrying bumbled about, some of which were heading for Thomas’ train.

They had time before he was scheduled to depart, though Thomas couldn’t help but to notice that Bertie was a little bit behind his usual schedule.

“Hullo Bertie,” he called. “You seem out of puff, your driver didn’t forget that Petrol stuff, did he?”

“Oh no, of course not! It’s my axels, they’re aching!”

Thomas pulled a face, he knew full well how much of a hassle aging axels could be.

Bertie carried on. “It’s that new school, as there’s so many children in the area, they’ve put in traffic controls. But instead of nice, sensible lights (like your Signals, you know), there’s this horrible new thing. So when I drove over the Sleeping Policeman—”

“You what?!” Thomas almost let off steam in his alarm, but he couldn’t see anything untoward under Bertie, tempering his horror a bit.

“Ah, a Sleeping Policeman! It’s a wretched bump in the road, and now I’ve got to drive over one every day!”

Thomas was gazing into the distance, not really seeing the view before him. “It sounds awful! Why on Earth are they sleeping in the middle of a road, they ought to know better!”

“Oh it is, it’s like if you lot had to roll over stones every quarter mile! I–hold on. What did you just say?”

Thomas was having a realisation of his own, and his face went from quite pale to decidedly flushed.

“A Sleeping Policeman is something hard they put on the road, you daft teakettle! A speed bump!” Bertie laughed in a jolly way. “Goodness me, now my axels are aching even more!”

“Well it’s a very silly name for it! Really now!” But he was somewhat relieved.

It was time to go, anyway. He whistled loudly and chuffed off, taking extra enjoyment from the lump-less iron rails under his wheels.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

What exactly do you think determines which accent an engine speaks with: where they were built or where they worked for most of their life?

Example: Thomas speaks with a cockney accent due to being from the LBSCR, James being Liverpudlian due to being a L&Y Engine etc etc.

In basic linguistic theory, L1 is our first language, that we learn natively. L2 refers to any languages afterwards/languages we learn when past the critical language learning stage (I think it's after 5 years?) that we have to learn through more explicit instruction.

I think the engines acquire languages and accents much as we do, though they would have an extra L0: the language and accent they absorb during their building process (as engines are presumed to be able to speak when they first come to life—they do not have the long language-learning stage that humans do!)

I have to suppose L0 (the building language) has a time-limited affect on engines. This is because of how very common it is for an engine to be built in one country and then immediately shipped off to another. I suppose at this point engines learn their L1 like babies do, and it takes a little while but they become fluent in this language. If it's different from their L0 then I would suppose their L0 is forgotten or at least goes dormant.

After L1, we have our L2s. We can learn more languages but they will not pick them up as readily and will speak it with an accent.

This all applies to accents, too, just like us. We do tend to engage in accent shift, unconsciously imitating the people around us. I would suppose Thomas's first accent is long gone — though he did have his original crew that travelled to Sodor with him and stayed on with him a long time, so through them he might have held onto it a good while! Apart from his crew, though, there must have been a remarkable dearth of speakers with that accent on his little rural branch line.

I love the idea of Scouse James though, again, it's been going on a hundred years now and I can see him trying to minimize it, so I imagine his accent has softened a good bit by now!

But James would retain his accent a while because he probably worked the L&Y for over a decade before coming to Sodor. If Gordon was only trialled out of Doncaster for a year, and given that he travelled all about the East Coast Main Line and his Works would have featured a rather cosmopolitan cast, well. I don't think Gordon retains his original accent at all. He could not imagine himself sounding Yorkish and, to be frank, neither can we!

Southeastern Sodor must feature a lot of the same Barrovian/Cumbrian/Lancashire mix that went into Edward's L1. I would imagine the north and west of Sodor have their own particular accents, though. So even his speech patterns shouldn't have remained completely stagnant.

Donald and Douglas having each other is going to reinforce their L0/L1 speech forever so it makes sense that they have the strongest accent.

[bruhstation]

you’re just like the rest of them

[nartothelar]

guys do you want to see the coolest thing ever

ehehe vintage 2000 thomas and friends mini moving keychain!!!

[crankybugs]

Happy Pride Skarloey Railway

[hazelcongestion]

pov thomas is giving you his business card

[offbeat03]

A silly and cute redraw!!

Unedited ver.

[gadgetini]

so alive

[theflyingkipper]

Traintober Day 8: The Ferry/Impact

Some deckhands try in vain to secure Victor before he falls.

[superarti]

Mr. Percival and Sir Topham Hatt verses Duncan

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 16 - The Western

So, the entire reason I did these Traintober prompts in the way that I did is that I watched Patrick H. Willems' new video "Why Are Movies So Obsessed With Trains?" and got inspired. (It's a very good video, go watch it and the follow-up.)

One of the primary inspirations I had was old westerns - you know, armed men on horseback robbing trains, cowboys, shotguns, whatever it was Gore Verbinski was doing with The Lone Ranger (2013); that sort of thing.

So I did that. On Sodor. Because why the hell not?

If you squint you may see some similarities to Train Stops Play.

Catch That Train!

The 1990s - When isn’t important

The train stood still under the bright sun of a high noon. It was hot but calm, the perfect day to stay inside, out of the elements. 

The engine certainly thought so - he was a four-coupled design, old as dirt by modern standards, but polished and cared for; still useful. He blew impatient smoke rings into the clear summer sky - he wanted to be somewhere else. 

His crew felt the same, baking in their uniforms as they tended to their charge. The fire was hot in the best weather, and the best weather this was not. They were considering stripping to their undershirts, or beyond, just to cool down.  

Behind them, a mixed train stretched back - short by some standards, but long for them: nine cars - one dry goods van, a trio of open hoppers that were riding empty (except for some loose straw), a trio of flatcars as empty as the hoppers, and then two coaches tacked onto the end - one for the mail, the other a baggage/coach combination. An odd train for sure, but this line was always a little old fashioned. 

The signal was at danger, and so they sat there, in the middle of the fields, surrounded by nothing but high grass…

-

The horses emerged over the crest of the nearest hill. 

There it is! The lead rider bellowed. He adjusted his white coat, dug in his spurs, and his white stallion took off with a will, galloping down towards the train. 

One after another, his fellows trailed behind him, until a fourteen horse gang was charging down the embankment towards the train. 

CLUNK 

The signal dropped, and the engine set off with a roar of impatience. 

The train jolted into movement, and the riders had to push their horses to keep pace. Soon the train was pulling away, and the riders slowly fell back, galloping down the center of the rails to keep their horses from falling to exhaustion. 

The tracks abruptly split underneath them, a long passing loop opening up to the right of the train. One rider, a small man on a huge chestnut mare, took his chance. Gaining speed, he pulled right alongside the train, slowly working his way along the coaches, looking for anywhere that he could hop on. 

The train did not oblige, and its speed began to slowly increase again, in varying steps. Sometimes the horse was faster, other times it was the iron horse. The rider was undeterred, even as his mare worked up a lather. 

A second set of hooves joined his, pounding against the rails of the loop. The lead rider pulled alongside. His stallion was longer in the legs, and he managed to pull ahead. The rest of the group slowly followed, trying to gain ground. 

It was slow going, but they’d have them eventually. All they had to do was make the flatbeds…

HONK-HONK! 

A two-tone note split the air, and the riders scattered as a huge diesel locomotive raced towards them on the loop. Half of them went right, spilling off the track and onto the embankment alongside, while the others slowed down, pulling in behind the train once again. 

The diesel grew larger by the second as the riders on the right-hand side spurred their horses on for another sprint. To the right of them, off the tracks entirely, was an earthen embankment that carried the road. Ahead of them, arcing over the tracks, was the bridge that took the road to the next town…

One rider, wearing black clothes and on a black stallion, took the charge, his horse almost flying up the side of the embankment, hooves pounding the road’s surface. Up here, he could almost gain on the steamer, and he raced onto the bridge just as the diesel slipped underneath in a streak of green. 

The road turned to cross the tracks, but the stallion didn’t. 

With a yell from its Rider, the black horse took a flying leap and cleared the bridge’s brick sides, soaring through the air in a perfect arc. 

Steel horseshoes sparked off the roof of the diesel as the horse landed mid-gallop, charging down the length of the passing train, against the direction of travel. 

The Rider looked to his left, mentally juggling three different speeds in his head as the steam train whizzed by on the other track. There went the hoppers, then the flatbeds…

The end of the diesel’s passenger coaches were quickly approaching…

Coaches, there. 

With a swift command from the Rider, the horse jumped from one train to the other, landing atop the first coach with sure-footed ease. Seconds later, the white stallion of the Leader landed atop the second coach with a thonk. 

Looking back, the rest of the group, now led by the young gun with the chestnut mare, continued down the road. Once it straightened out, they steeplechased their way across the lineside hedges and rejoined their fellows on the tracks in record time. 

Now then, onto the real prize. The two riders looked at each other, and spurred their horses on yet again, moving forward up the train. 

Reaching the end of the two coaches, they took a jump, and landed on the third flatcar with a bang. 

There! It was the Young Gun, pointing further up the train. Third hopper!

The two riders turned as one, and started up the train, their horses jumping the gaps between cars with practiced ease. 

The Young Gun watched them from the line. They’d find it, he was sure of that. 

HEY! His head whipped around. There, standing in the doorway of the coach, was a hired Guard. He took one big step out the coach, and onto the first flatbed. 

He wielded a shotgun. 

The Young Gun didn’t even think. With one shout to his associates, he stood up on the saddle of his mare, judged the gap, and leaped for the train. 

The Guard didn’t hear him coming, and he tackled the man to the deck of the flatbed. The gun went skittering off the side of the train car, falling away to the lineside. 

The Young Gun was fast on his feet, and tried to pin the Guard to the deck. Unfortunately he was built like a string bean, while the Guard’s muscles strained out of his shirt. With one move he was halfway across the flatbed, while the Guard looked for his weapon. 

Finding it gone, he reached for his belt. With a vicious look, he grabbed a small object and flicked it. The man exuded an aura that said he didn’t need a gun. An extendable baton would do the trick. 

The Young Gun was momentarily at a loss, before a shout from his fellows drew his attention. One of his associates tossed something his way. 

A mallet. 

The Young Gun suddenly felt more confident. This, he could work with. 

The two men stared each other down,  waiting for the other to flinch. 

A shout rose up from the hoppers. They’d found what they were looking for!

At the exact same moment, a cry of What is going on? emerged from the open door of the coach. 

The two men realized that it was now or never. 

They readied their weapons

They charged.

----------------------------------

A few minutes later

“I’m sorry,” Said the police constable, not for the first time. “But you’re going to need to take this from the start.”

“Polo is our game!” Said the man on the left. He held the reins of the white horse. 

“Polo,” The constable repeated. “The sport on horseback?”

“That’s right!”

“And…” The constable held onto his pen and notepad like a lifeline. “What exactly does polo have to do with chasing down a train?”

The man on the right, the one dressed in all black, spoke up. He at least had the good graces to look slightly aware of the situation’s ludicrous nature. “It’s the gentleman’s rules of polo.” he said quickly.

“The… Gentleman’s Rules.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind elaborating on that a touch?” The pen, it has to be a lifeline. 

“Well,” the white-dressed man started, before his black-suited companion stopped him. 

“Clancy. Please.” He looked to the heavens for support. “that's the rules of our game. One ball, no out of bounds. Play doesn’t stop until the horses tire or the ball is destroyed.”

Oh no. Things were starting to make sense. “And would I be right in assuming that you hit the ball onto the train?”

“You would be.”

“So, you were chasing it down to retrieve your ball?”

“Yes.” The one in black was looking more and more chagrined. The one in white was suitably oblivious.

“Did it, at any point, occur to you that it might be wiser to treat the ball as lost?” They’re going to say no, because this island is full of nutters. Why did he accept the transfer from London? Was it the lie about peaceful country life, or the lie about Sodor being boring?

The white-dressed one puffed himself up. “We are not cowards! What’s a spirited ride down the railway line to a skilled group of horsemen like us?” He gestured broadly to the group of polo players, who were all being interviewed by what had to have been every police officer in Suddery. 

“Aside from him being a skilled instigator,” The black dressed man said with a hangdog expression. “We didn’t bring another ball.”

“I see.” The constable made a few notes out of sheer desperation. Somehow he knew that the other side of the story was going to be just as implausible. 

“Now then,” He turned slightly, and addressed the private security guard, who looked ready to explode. “What’s your side of this whole business?”

“I-” The man started. “We. Are from Securicor. You know, the security firm? We are escorting a highly valuable shipment from Brendam to Newcastle. I am doing my job-”

The man was turning puce, and the constable cut him off. “Yes, yes, I’m aware. Cash transport on behalf of Northern Rock. We are kept in the loop on this sort of thing.”

“Then you know how valuable this shipment is!” The burly man continued, waving his arms around. “And so I hardly see why I am being questioned about how I did my job and protected my shipment from- from- from a group of bandits on horseback!” 

Here we go. “You’re being questioned primarily so that I may have a full understanding of what transpired, but also because you drew a firearm on these two men right here, and then proceeded to get into a fight with another whilst on a moving train.”

“A fight that he lost, I daresay.” The white-dressed rider spoke up again. His black-dressed compatriot put his head in his hands. 

“They jumped onto a moving train!” The guard protested. “What was I supposed to do?!” 

“Win the fight, I might say.” said the white-dressed man. 

“Why you-!” The guard turned a different color, and looked like he needed to be restrained. 

“Oi!” The constable cut in. “Leave it! No more of this instigating while I’m right here.”

“Oh fine.” The white-dressed man said calmly. “It’s all the better that he lost, anyway. We’d have never gotten the ball if young McColl hadn’t distracted him.”

He produced a small white ball that helpfully said “POLO” on it.

The Securicor guard went several colors at once. “All that, for that?!” He bellowed, and lunged for the ball. It took all of the constable’s strength, plus several other men, to wrestle him to the ground. 

-

Several hundred feet away, Edward watched the rapidly unfolding calamity with bemusement. “I say,” he wondered aloud to the Chief Inspector for Suddery. “Isn’t that the new man that London sent up?”

“A-yup. ‘E’s been here ‘bout a week.” The inspector said as a group of men restrained the security guard. 

“How has he been fitting in?” 

The guard broke free, and the new constable had to tackle him to the ground. 

“I think he still needs to get used to the place. Not used to the country life, I think.”

“Few are.”

[shinygoku]

Ya’ll like James ThomastheTankEngine ? Here’s some Jim as written by me, for @mean-scarlet-deceiver 😘🚂❤💙

I kinda feel like finding Thomas and James interactions that ain’t based on the CGI takes is hard, so here’s my whack at the idea ✨

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

When did Edward get his branch line? My friend says 1923. I saw somewhere that it was 1945, it might have even been here on your blog. What is canon? 

- A Former Anon

Welcome to non-lurkerdom, Former Anon! Pull up a chair. Get yourself a profile pic. Stay a while.

*strokes chin philosophically* What is canon, indeed...

First, let's stipulate that we're talking RWS. I don't actually think TVS contradicts anything I have to say here but its weird-ass chronology certainly doesn't help so let's pretty much set it aside.

Second: you might be thinking of a time way back—like, way back—when I cited 1948. That was what TTTE Wiki said in 2020, and I hadn't read all of RWS in order so I trusted it. However, I don't think there was ever any canon basis for this date specifically—and I think the Wiki editors realized it too, since that fact has long since been scrubbed from the site. It's still not a bad choice, though; just way too specific to be called canon.

Third, and tl;dr: As far as I can tell, you could say anywhere between... 1923 and 1965 and still be canon-compliant?? Yeah, that's right, a spread of forty-plus years. It's actually kind of incredible to me that the window is that wide open but there you are.

Now, it is extremely common for fanworks to have Edward "get his branch line" in the early 1920s, like after TTRE or TTTE. But I don't think that's a good reading. Technically it's not incorrect but it doesn't harmonize well with what we see him doing in canon throughout the FC1 era—which, again and again and again, is main line work.

The confusion here, I think, is that as early as Thomas the Tank Engine (set 1925) Wellsworth is referred to "Edward's station" (and in this book Edward even refers to it as "home").

But! All these references, from here and throughout the next 10+ books in the series, only mean for sure that Edward is resident shunter/banker there. We don't actually have a clear reference to "Edward's branch line" until Main Line Engines (1965).

Yeah, you can argue this is splitting hairs I guess? But, the thing is, Edward as a sort of main line utility/rescue engine as well as Wellsworth station pilot makes far better sense of what the heck he's doing in the FC1-era stories. During all this time, we don't even have a confirmed sighting of him on the Brendam branch. No, not even throughout all the Edward the Blue Engine (1952) stories. (Personally I imagine his accident in "Cows" took place on the branch but, fact is, it's entirely ambiguous.) A non-exhaustive list of what we do see him doing in the FC1 era includes: "odd jobs" at the Big Station, filling in for Henry when Henry fails on his passenger train, picking up goods at Tidmouth harbour, dropping whatever the hell he usually does to help out in the aftermath of the big engines' strike, being on hand at what Rev. Awdry identified as Vicarstown to shunt Gordon prior to the Ditch Incident, etc., etc.

The first time he's confirmed to ever set a wheel on the branch line is when we find that he's timetabled on the evening Tidmouth-Brendam "fast" in MLE. Which, as mentioned, is actually the same book we find out that "Edward's branch line" is, like, a Thing. So, a reading that makes the answer to your question "1964/5, right before Awdry started writing, when Edward and BoCo were assigned to manage the line together" is actually perfectly plausible (*small voice* and kinda cute. This would also mean that, even as BoCo is being trialled, the enthusiasts' train was also part of a trial period to decide whether Edward should be in charge of the line's passenger work... and that's certainly a Take. an unprecedented Take i believe, but a valid one.)

For my money, though, the most plausible year is 1952. After the "Old Iron" overhaul.

Lemme end with what I think is the most probable timeline for Edward's Sodor career. I'm not gonna break out all my canon citations coz this post is already ungodly long for such a simple ask... but feel free to ask for the receipts for anything in this timeline:

1915-1920 — pretty much the main line engine. especially as the other wartime loans are sent home. probably in charge of the express (which existed in a lighter and probably less tightly-timed form than we know it from Gordon's day).

1921-1922 — as the railway manages to acquire a motley collection of big, new, powerful, and extremely volatile engines—largely troubled prototypes—Edward is knocked down the roster to eventually being "the spare." since "these big engines" are "always going wrong," especially during this crazy period, that actually keeps him plenty busy until, well... things start to settle down. FC1 clearly doesn't feel the need to reassign Edward right away (anticipating, correctly, more instances of Confusion and Delay at Vicarstown, where it's nice to be able to shout "Find another engine!" and not have the answer be "... there's only Thomas??"). but before he does Edward turns on the puppy dog eyes and his new driver proves that Ed could be really valuable as station pilot at Wellsworth...

1923-WWII — Edward is based at Wellsworth to manage the depot, shuttle some goods to and from Tidmouth, and bank trains as needed. i'm gonna guess that he's often tapped at crazy hours when FC1 has what i am sure were his roughly-biannual clandestine "business meetings" where he either obtains or deploys blackmail in order to drive his devilish bargains. but Edward also remains a main line pinch-hitter, and does odd jobs all over the place until...

WWII — sometime during or after the war, another engine replaces Edward on banking duties (the goods trains at the time having gotten significantly heavier). Edward is assigned a couple of main line "Locals" each day while still fulfilling the rest of his old utility role

1948 — the clay pits at Brendam are opened. Edward makes a lot of the deliveries required for them to set up shop. he also meets Bill and Ben when they arrive. his ability to keep the new engines (roughly) in line is a powerful pull factor in getting him down the branch line more often, though his role doesn't officially change yet.

1952 — post-overhaul, Edward is assigned to the morning and evening Tidmouth-Brendam fast trains. so from here on he's on the branch line daily and thus, given his long experience at Brendam and especially at Wellsworth, is considered to be in charge of the line

1959 — despite his new role as a branch line engine, Edward is not completely relieved of all his main line utility work (in particular, please take note of Edward carting Rheneas around, the type of job to soon become very Caledonian-coded) until both Donald and Douglas are purchased. this frees Edward up to take on more branch line goods

1965 — BoCo is acquired and takes over Edward's share of the branch line goods work, which leaves Edward free for the ever-increasing special trains (stuff like excursions or wedding trains or other charters, which are frequent during the summer and holiday seasons). of course, while both are pretty happy with their usual jobs (the magazines established that BoCo doesn't really care for passenger work, and i find that harmonizes well with his appearances in canon/basis history so i accept it as canon) they do swap timetables sometimes for a change of pace

aaaand then we get to the Christopher Awdry era, where Nothing Ever Changes, and the TVS era, where Time is Meaningless, so i suppose that's that forever. cheers! (she said, with slight sarcasm)

[frog-e-box]

Another batch of requests done! I'm considering a mini break from TTTE art as to focus on my characters but in the meantime I hope you like these :D

[mwolf0epsilon]

So I've been watching a lot of Girl With The Dogs videos recently, and thought it'd be funny to do a parody redraw where one of the railway staff started an "engine grooming" channel, where they wash and paint the engines while also giving the viewers information on their build/class and specific needs.

I am now kind of attached to "Guy" and might adopt him as an actual OC that primarily mans the Washdown Station...

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